


writer's pen

by skuls



Category: The X-Files
Genre: weird meta bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: what if the x files was a series of sci-fi novels written by the cigarette smoking man, and what if the cigarette smoking man wasn’t a shadowy villain but instead a petty writer who cast the people in his lives in his stories?





	writer's pen

**Author's Note:**

> it should be mentioned that i unconsciously channeled the dead hand loves you by margaret atwood (which can be found in her anthology stone mattress) and didn’t realize it until after i was finished.
> 
> disclaimer: this is not meant to, in any way, make fun of any real people. (not intentionally, at least.) it is pure and total crack!fic and should be treated like the crack it is: a 5 am thought that came from analyzing musings of a cigarette smoking man. which should never be done.

_The aliens were watching her and the smoker stood over her, token Morley in hand. “What do you want from me?” Scully asked, gripping her elbows tightly. “Where’s Mulder?”_

The writer sighs, shaking the ashes off of his cigarette into the ash tray and pressing his nicotine-stained fingers to his forehead. He’ll have to call his publisher and tell him that the book isn’t working out. He’s resorted to old habits, dumb cliches of _The X-Files’_ former glory days. How many times has he had his main heroine abducted? The Jesuit slug in Volume 8 resulted in another angry letter from his purported son, threatening another lawsuit.

The idea behind the last book, Volume 10, had been to give the fans a sense of nostalgia, love for the 90′s book series that had taken off and become a cult classic and made him a successful author. He’d figured that his not-son had forgotten about the lawsuit, the second lawsuit, his freak-out over the movie rights almost being sold, and the one crazy fan who had written a series of letters all addressed to Fox Mulder or Dana Scully. He’d been wrong; when Volume 10 had been announced, he’d shown up, outraged, on the door and insisted that he give it up, or at least share some of the royalties. His kids were on the way to college, he said. And his life had become a never-ending embarrassment since the damn books. In revenge, the writer had stormed upstairs to his typewriter and broken Mulder and Scully up, made Mulder a sad hermit and then essentially killed him by the end of the novel with his pandemic. It was supposed to be the end, a grand finale and one final “fuck-you” to his not-Mulder not-son. But the fans wanted more, they’d hated the ending. And his publisher had demanded it, but the writer is more than out of ideas.

The entire series had been a mistake in the first place. He’d wanted to be a writer ever since he was a little boy, but at the time, he’d been bitter about his failed novel: _Second Chance: A Jack Colquitt Adventure_. Its botched ending, his failure at becoming a real writer. And then his former lover - the woman who became Teena Mulder in _The X Files_ \- had insisted that he meet his son. She and her husband - the tragic Bill Mulder in the books - had divorced, and she didn’t want to keep secrets from her son, so she’d told him and his younger sister. She wanted the writer to come to Thanksgiving. So he had, and it was by far the worst holiday he’d ever attended. His son was outright rude, refusing to talk to him or look him in the eye. He was a psychologist, and for some reason, the writer had always hated psychologists. His sister ( _not_ his daughter) was as rude as possible to him. The Thanksgiving had ended in an all-out yelling match where his not-son had told him to “stay away from my mother, and stay away from me”. That night, the writer had troped home in the rain, and bitterly typed out the openings of a novel on his typewriter. He cast his not-son as a former FBI golden boy who worked on a joke project in the basement chasing monsters and himself as the shady, smoking villain out the outskirts: the Cigarette-Smoking Man. He’d named his not-son’s alter ego Fox Mulder - Fox because of his not-son’s hatred of foxes and Mulder as one final fuck-you to his not-son’s mother (who’s stage name in college, when he first knew her, was Teena Mulder although her real name was Elizabeth). He’d made his obsession aliens because he’d seen his not-son as a boy proclaim to love them, lugging around books on aliens and Roswell everywhere. He thought it was ridiculous and hated the entire premise, but the words stuck with him. He couldn’t get his head out of the basement.

The following months shaped what would eventually become _The X Files: Volume 1_ (referred to as the _A New Hope_ of the series by the fans since it had been released simply as _The X-Files_ ). His not-son’s sister had been progressively ruder as he’d tried to come around and make amends, so he’d cast her as Samantha Mulder, tragic victim of the aliens. At first, Fox Mulder had been a one-dimensional character with an obsession but no beginning or end, but then inspiration had struck. He’d gotten into an argument with a long-time friend, who would later become Bill Scully. At this point, the writer can’t remember what the hell the argument was about, but it had taken its toll. He’d inserted the man in the book and chosen his favorite daughter (and incidentally the one he knew best) into the book. She became Dana Scully, spy sent to ruin Fox Mulder, skeptic to his believer. His original ending had been to have her ruin Mulder, but as the book went on, that premise became hollow. And then, supreme irony: the not-Scully and his not-son ended up working with each other. Constantly, said the woman who would become Maggie Scully when they ran into each other in the store. And the two of them hated each other, my goodness, isn’t it a tragedy? (The not-Mulders and the not-Scullys lived in the same tiny town near a military base, where everyone pretty much knew each other. The writer had known the real Bill Mulder and the real Bill Scully from the military. They were all somewhat friends, but the only ones who knew about the affair was the writer, his not-son, and his sister and mother.) So the writer had pettily shifted the story. Mulder and Scully would become friends, best friends. He even hinted at a romance forming between them. When things came to a head and the real Bill Scully punched the writer in the jaw, the fictional Bill Scully died and Mulder comforted Dana Scully. For his trouble, the writer had him shot in the head. _The X Files: Volume 1_ became a thick dime-store paperback full of thrills and chills and lots of tight, violent lamplight moments of danger for poor Mulder and Scully until the tragic end: Mulder and Scully were separated, the truth taken away from them by the Cigarette Smoking Man (the writer himself). The writer had hated his petty novel, but still, it was written, so he shipped it off to a publishing house, and the publishers snatched it up.

And it had become an instant hit.

Surprised by his sudden success, the writer had agreed to a deal for three more _X-Files_ books. His not-son had never read it and probably never would, so what was the harm? He continued writing about the real people in his life, clouded with a smokescreen of fiction.

Apparently (according to the real Maggie Scully over their shopping carts), not-Scully and his not-son were enjoying working together now, and thank goodness because they were both so attractive and his not-son came from such a good family. That’s what you think, thought the writer. He began his book by having Scully abducted. He gave himself a more prominent goal, taunting Mulder from the other side of his gun barrel. It was almost as satisfying as taunting him in real life. Walter Skinner, a confusing character whose alliances the writer couldn’t decide, was his neighbor who read his book and raved about how much he loved it. Alex Krycek was his editor. The real Bill Mulder found out about the affair and showed up on the writer’s doorstep to punch him in the jaw. (Why did all the people who became characters named Bill punch him in the jaw?) Furiously and with an ice pack clutched to the swelling area, the writer wrote out the murder of the fictional Bill Mulder by Alex Krycek. He drank an entire bottle of tequila and smoked an entire pack of Morleys, passed out, and woke up with a pounding headache and an urge to remove his not-son both from his life and his book completely. He ended the book with Mulder’s death by his hand (both in the sense of him as the writer and him as the book’s main villain), the smoke rising into the sky. A poetic ending, he thought. The next book would be focused on the Dana Scully character, a fitting character to take over.

He was wrong on both accounts. His editor and publisher were both furious at Mulder’s death, and he received a series of angry fan letters demanding he bring Mulder back in Volume 3. ( _Fuck the smoker!_ one had read, which had honestly hurt the writer’s feelings.) And not-Scully read the book. She had barely spoken to him because of the grudge her father had against him, but she shown up on his doorstep with Volumes 1 and 2 clutched in her hand. “What is this?” she demanded, and proceeded to list all the wrongs of the books. He’d killed her father’s fictional counterpart. He’d had her fictional counterpart abducted and tortured multiple times in the story. It made a mockery of her and his not-son - had he even considered their reputations? She insisted he stop the books immediately, or at least change his characters to unrecognizable versions of him. He went upstairs and wrote out Scully’s sister’s death scene. His neighbor, the real Skinner, criticized the ending of Volume 2, so he wrote the scene where Scully and Mulder point the guns at Skinner. Ultimately, the real Skinner eventually apologized and told him he liked the book, so the writer rewrote his death scene. But he made Skinner an ally of Mulder and Scully.

Volume 3 was mundane, compared to the first two. After a terrible Thanksgiving with his former lover and his not-son, he went home and wrote two scenes: Mulder’s confrontation with Robert Patrick Modell and Teena Mulder’s stroke. He ended Volume 3 with an easy cliffhanger - the alien advancing on poor Mulder and Scully - figuring that Volume 4 would be an easy write and he could leave the whole damn book behind forever.

Not-Scully bought the book immediately and was outraged. She showed up on the writer’s doorstep, furious, and shouted at him about the book. She mentioned his not-son a lot. “Don’t you care about him at all?” she said furiously.

“Do you love him?” the writer had replied, taking a puff on his cigarette. 

Not-Scully had insisted that they were just partners and said that was beside the point. She called him a sociopath. She threatened to show his not-son the book, and he said he didn’t care. He had a plan for Volume 4 - he would give the fictional Scully cancer, which would reveal her and Mulder’s love for each other (at least half of his fan mail was asking if Mulder and Scully would ever get together; he wished they’d write more about Cigarette Smoking Man), and he would give himself an epic death, a beautiful last moment. Whether or not he would kill Scully, he hadn’t decided. It depended how much not-Scully pissed him off, he supposed, but he thought ending Mulder and Scully’s romance with her death would be lovely and tragic and poignant. (But then again, the fan backlash would be enough to convince him not to do it.) He wrote Volume 4 feverishly, burning through a pack of cigarettes every night as he stayed up late to write. At a book signing, a sweet little fan with a ponytail said she hated the Cigarette Smoking Man, so the writer wrote the story of his life (with a few obvious embellishments) to make people understand why the villain was the way he was. His neighbor told him how much he liked Volume 3, so he made him betray Mulder and Scully. He gave Mulder a death bed confession of love and a heartbreaking death scene. The Cigarette Smoking Man gave Mulder his sister back (he was a father who just wanted to be loved, why couldn’t Mulder see that), and the hero rejected him. The villain died clutching his son’s photo to his breathing chest. Scully died and Mulder cried over her death bed. And then he swore to keep on fighting the good fight. The end; the series was over, and the writer could rest.

And then a funny thing happened: his not-son started dating not-Scully.

The two families that the writer hated were intertwined with happiness, and he was bitter. He let his neighbor, real Skinner, read his draft of the novel, and he hated the ending. The writer rewrote it completely, taking out Mulder’s confession of love and letting Scully live. He let Skinner be the good guy and killed off Blevins instead. He left in his own romantic death scene, boxed it up, and sent it off to the publishers.

Volume 4 was loved, called the best book of the series. His publisher asked for more and he sighed and consented. He brought himself back from the dead for Volume 5, and gave him more depth, an ex-wife and a son. Mulder and Scully grew closer, almost but not quite getting the romantic ending everyone always wanted. (He left them almost-kissing and walking off holding hands to satisfy the fans, but wouldn’t let them go all the way out of pettiness towards his not-son.) When the real Maggie Scully told him that not-Scully was pregnant, he wrote in the tragedy of Scully’s experiment daughter, pettily making her only Scully’s child and not Mulder’s. And then the real Maggie Scully got a hold of Volume 2 and 3 and refused to speak to him anymore. (He’d done a terrible job of disguising people, clearly.) When he saw not-Scully kissing his not-son, he inserted Diana Fowley. He shipped it off to the publishers, a bitter man ready to be done with this crappy sci-fi phenomenon.

His publisher wanted another book. Two more, in fact. The writer flew to the Bahamas and wrote Volumes 6 and 7 over margaritas. In Volume 6, Mulder and Scully grew apart, and he did away with the current storylines he detested and tried to start anew. He wanted to be a philosopher, make his books something of a genius piece of literature, so he wrote about Scully finding the ship in Africa. Volume 7 was his worst yet, he thought, and he was determined to make it the end, so he gave Scully and Mulder a happy ending. He shipped Volume 6 off and left Volume 7 in a sheaf on his desk, waiting.

The real Teena Mulder and Samantha Mulder got their hands on the books. They showed up, angry, and the writer’s former lover slapped him. He killed them off in Volume 7 - at least that would give it some plot. He also killed his character a second time, a dramatic fall down the stairs. Volume 6 was well received, so he shipped off Volume 7 and lay down in his bedroom and slept for what felt like a week.

And then the ultimate nightmare: his son finally read all seven books.

He wasn’t just furious; he actually sued the writer. “You killed off my entire family!” he said in the courtroom. “You tortured my wife in every single one of your books! You’re insane!” The lawsuit ended in the writer having to pay a sum of money to his not-son. Because he was probably the pettiest man alive, he went home and wrote another book: Volume 8, probably the darkest yet. Not-Scully was pregnant with their second child, so in the book, Scully (who was unable to have kids) found out she was pregnant right after Mulder was abducted.She spent the book searching for Mulder and found him dead in a field. His editor hated it: it’s time to stop writing books, he said, the fans loved 7 but the critics didn’t. The writer had other ideas. He killed off Krycek, rewrote the ending so Mulder came back to life as a traumatized zombie, and hired two new, eager editors who loved his books. They liked 8, but suggested he add in other characters to broaden the book’s plot. They became Doggett and Reyes.

Volume 8 hadn’t sold well, though. The critics - as well as the fans - hadn’t liked the fact that Mulder wasn’t in it. (I felt like it was time to retire the character of Mulder, for a while, the writer had defended himself at a signing, ignoring the sounds of sniffling leftover from his reading of Mulder’s death scene.) They had loved the ending, though. They all raved about the ending.

His not-son had showed up, furious, book in hand. “No more books with me in them or there’ll be another law suit,” he’d said, shaking the thick paperback in his face. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, since the writer was exhausted with the whole series, but his publishers were already campaigning for book 9. Will it ever end, he thought some days as he lit his cigarette.

Since he hadn’t specified who _else_ not to put in the book, he wrote Mulder leaving Scully and their newborn (who he named William as a personal joke, since he’d already layered the name William on several characters). He was sick of the story, sick of the whole damn thing, so Volume 9 was his darkest yet. Scully’s baby was targeted and kidnapped and eventually given up. He gave Doggett and Reyes a sort-of happy ending - what had his new publishers ever done to him? Since he fully intended for Volume 9 to be the last one, he brought Mulder back for the ending. Put him in prison, executed him while Scully watched and cried not to cry. And then the world ended. “It’s goddamn poetic,” he said, flicking ashes on his desk. 

His editors loved it - the writer suspected that they figured out where they showed up in the book. “Except for the ending,” the real Reyes said, shuffling the papers together. “You have to change it. Scully gives up her baby and then Mulder dies? It’s totally off with the tone of the series.” 

He didn’t agree, but when he thought about the backlash, he reconsidered. He left in Scully giving up William, to make it dark and gritty. But he saved Mulder’s life. He broke him out of prison and sent the two of them spiraling alone into the desert. He brought himself back to deliver an ominous premonition and then he hurled a missile at Cigarette Smoking Man’s face and gave himself one final dramatic death. He ended it with Mulder and Scully on a hotel bed together. Now _that_ was goddamn poetic - or at least it would be in the eyes of critics and fans who would think of the hotel scene from Volume 1.

“I like it,” real Reyes said. “I like that Mulder and Scully don’t die.”

“Everyone dies,” the writer said. “And the world still ends, you know.” 

The reviews for Volume 9 were worse than 8. His poetic ending hadn’t resonated with many people at all - they were focused on the lack of Mulder and the loss of William. The writer slunk into The Hole Where Washed-Up Writers Go To Die (the title of his pending autobiography), determined not to write anymore. Whatever he’d had, he’d lost it, and the _X-Files_ books were eating him from the inside out. It was too crowded in his head - Mulder and Scully had set up camp there.

There was a Sticky Note attached to his subpoena: _Maybe I should’ve been more specific. Do not write about me or my family ever again._ I am family, the writer thought, and poured himself a glass of bourbon. “I’m not planning to write any more books,” he said in court, and the judge nodded and his not-son nodded and he paid his money and that was that.

Years later, he tried a couple of historical novels that flopped. His characters were flat, real Doggett said. That’s because I’m not basing them off of real people, the writer wanted to say. There was an attempt to make a movie, later - they wanted to buy the rights and make a franchise in the style of _Harry Potter_. The writer wrote a sequel-ish script to Volume 9, called _I Want To Believe_ , and his not-son got wind of it and threatened another lawsuit. No movies were made, but his first-draft script got leaked on the Internet somehow.

He’d tried to forget it, he really had. And then his publisher had the idea of a twentieth anniversary novel. He hadn’t wanted to write Volume 10, and he wants to write Volume 11 even less. 

The writer takes a long drag of his cigarette. He considers his technical-granddaughter, the one who had been born when he wrote Volume 5, who had shown up on his doorstep a couple of days ago. “Hi,” she’d said. “My entire family hates your books, but I think they’re kind of hilarious. So, rock on or whatever.” She flashed him a peace sign and was gone. 

The writer flips through the little bit he has of Volume 11. Maybe he should finish it. Give the fans the ending they’d always wanted and end the series for good. Maybe he can dedicate it to his technical-granddaughter, one last fuck-you to his not-son and the series in general.

_The smoker twisted his cigarette in his hand. “You and your son are the only ones who can save the world,” he said. “And we need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”_


End file.
